


Breaking

by Rhi Shaw (Gryphonrhi)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Community: crossovers100, Community: spook_me, Crossover, Gen, Horror, Psychological Horror, Revenge, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:49:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphonrhi/pseuds/Rhi%20Shaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At two in the morning, you can hear the sound of glass breaking across the house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Early Morning

**Author's Note:**

> General Disclaimers: Written for Spook_Me 2011, prompt: invader. House invader, in this case. Many thanks to Dragon for repeated beta and continuity catches. Also written for Crossovers100, prompt # 18 -- _black_.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Rated: NC-17 for violence and horror.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Three versions disclaimer: There are three possible endings for this story, and only one of them is a crossover. Each successive chapter is a different ending, and the chapter title will tell you which is which. Read one or all, your choice entirely. Happy Halloween!

"Such a plain little house," Drusilla murmured to the air, missing Miss Agnes again. She always paid attention so well. "Almost like drinking from a paper sack. Just tasteless. Well." Drusilla reconsidered that as she trailed her fingers lightly just over the window panes in the back door. "She'll still have taste even in this place -- but does she taste as good as she smells?"

Dru frowned with her whole face, mouth puckering, brows drawing down, vampire ridges half-forming then sliding back again. "She'd better not be coffee."

Drusilla broke the glass pane with all five thumb- and fingertips at once, then paused to admire the shape of her hand and fingers. "Oooh. Could put someone's face out that way. Not just the eyes." She studied her hand for a long moment in the moonlight and streetlight, lost in contemplation.

# # #

Sleeping in a new house was always an iffy process as she learned the new ticks and creaks where the building cooled, and the background sounds of a new neighborhood. The helicopter going overhead earlier had woken her up, and a neighbor's dog wanting back in had woken her again sometime after that. Grace had turned over and gone back to sleep after those.

This time, she woke to the sound of glass breaking, clearly audible in the early morning silence. Her eyes widened and she lay motionless, barely breathing as she listened and hoped that the sound hadn't come from anywhere too close, hoped she'd simply dreamed the sound.

This new house was still full of piles of boxes, furniture not yet where it should be, only a single night light in the bathroom because she'd thought street lights were plenty after four years of research in the rain forest.

In the silence of her own restrained breathing, her own stillness in the new bed linens, Grace heard the back door weather-stripping rasp against the vinyl floor in the kitchen.

# # #

"Mmm." Drusilla tried to reach through the gaping window and smiled wickedly when nothing held her back. "Ooh, someone is as new here as she smells." She turned the bolt and opened the door. The floorboards creaked softly, so softly she barely heard it, and Drusilla smiled. Running food was always more fun.

"Hungry," she purred to the night and stepped inside the house, sing-songing, "It's not yours yet, you can't keep me out...."

Her fingers brushed a silly metal door on the wall on one pirouette, so Drusilla smacked it open -- "Bad door." -- and slapped the switches to new positions, laughing happily and almost soundlessly as bright numbers vanished, machines whined themselves to sleep, and the house went properly dark.

"That's better."

# # #

Grace rolled out of bed as quietly as she could, eyes closed as she concentrated on what the room had looked like when she turned off the light to sleep, which side of the hallway had held the wrapped art. She'd lived alone a long time, however; she didn't have to think about where the nearest weapon was.

She hefted the machete she'd left beside the bed and moved towards the hall. Halfway there, the nightlight and clock went out.

Grace settled into position beside the doorframe, weapon up and hilt ready to cold-cock her target if she could, and waited to see a light. Instead she heard someone... talking. Even for a burglar, the woman didn't sound sane.

# # #

Drusilla could hear her prey's heartbeat speed up again, faster now. "Pitapat, pitapat. Not fast enough." She pouted, then kneaded claws through the air. "Come out and play, little mousie." Drusilla squeaked encouragement and laughed softly at the sound of footsteps retreating from her.

"Oh, no." She hummed, moving through the dark and the night the way she waded through rivers and the sea: chest forward, arms and hands back, reveling in the currents of air. The house smelled of cheap food and cardboard dust, stale air and harsh cleansers, exhilarating fear and rich, intoxicating blood. The woman wasn't even bleeding yet but Drusilla could almost taste the life pumping under her skin, could feel it calling to her, textured and layered like the things the wine connoisseur she drank last night had talked about.

"Raspberries in the nose," Drusilla sang softly, dipping and swaying through the living room. "Mouthfeel of sea water and copper, aftertaste of life...." She sniffed at the air, smiling now. "Ooh, aroma of cold sweat and colder steel. What pretty toys you have, little girl. All the better to kill you with."

# # #

Grace hadn't thought her eyes could get any wider, waiting in the darkness, but they did when she heard that. An intruder who could smell a machete from yards away? She felt behind her with a foot, careful of her balance, and shifted back another step. Not from any delusion of safety. She wanted the room to swing.

She shifted her arms, slowly so the fabric of her sleeves wouldn't rustle and give her position away, controlling her breathing in an attempt to control her fear. Whoever this was, knocking her out with the hilt didn't seem sufficient. Madmen were frequently too strong, as were junkies. She'd happily explain to the police just how frightened she'd been, if it came to that. First she had to win, and survive, to need explanations.

# # #

The heartbeat ahead of her spiked upward again, then fell back a little. Drusilla tsked, shaking her finger. "No, no, not nice, calming down is bad for you." She darted through the doorway and caught the descending blow by the arm, blade falling somewhere behind her prey as Drusilla snapped the small bones and ground them together against the tendons.

Not a sound, as if she couldn't scream, and Drusilla pouted again. "Too hard? Oh. Well." She caught the other arm as it came in and broke it, too -- but slower, more delicately. That drew a high, sharp cry and Drusilla leaned in, spreading the woman's arms wider to get better access to her throat and more of those high-pitched almost-muffled sounds. She sniffed the tendon, then licked along it, trailing down to the collarbone to see if the taste changed. "Moselle. Riesling, smoked bacon, and plums. I haven't had proper French wine in ages… Gourmet snobs make the next few meals taste even more."

Drusilla pressed her victim back against the wall; the woman tried to trip her with a bare foot looped behind Dru's calf. Drusilla stayed upright easily and tightened her grip on both arms, taking the woman's breath away, pulling harder to spread those lovely delicate bones farther. Sweat broke out on her victim's skin, her heart pounding harder and harder now, lovely desperate beating under those fragile ribs, a butterfly trying to rip free of its cocoon....


	2. ~~ The horror mix ~~

Drusilla nuzzled at the fair skin, blew long strands of dark hair away, and murmured, "I do hope you're not coffee. I don't like coffee." Then her face blurred and her fangs ripped through flesh. Hot, rich, thick, glorious blood spilled over her tongue, her teeth, her lips, her face....

Drusilla drank the blood as if she was starving (which she was), drank hoarse, high, shocked cries of pain and panic and pleading as if they were as good as blood (which they almost were), and drank in the desperate hammering of the heart and surge of hormones into the blood like the spices and amuse-bouche they were. Every drop, every beat, every lost, terrified syllable, every glorious, grand, intoxicating bite and bit and breath....

They slid down the floor together, locked against each other by Drusilla's arms and teeth and will, until that hammering heartbeat stuttered, shuddered, and stopped. The frail, broken body lay abandoned limp and empty under her.

Leaving Drusilla to roll off her, giddy and giggling and hugging herself in pleased surprise. "Mmm. Not coffee at all. Cognac, or champagne, or that lovely plum and almond liqueur. It's too bad they break so easily."

Drusilla stared into the dark and sighed, suddenly, briefly content. "Coffee. You're supposed to finish a good meal with coffee.... I wonder if one of those fancy coffee places could make me something that would taste like that pretty Hawai'ian coffee smelled? Such a waste if I have to kill them all to get it right. I'm full now. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Plum and almond liqueur' -- Yumehibiki Brightly Plum Liqueur, Brilliant amber color. Redolent aromas of floral plum, buckwheat honey, and delicate marzipan follow through on a lively entry to a tangy fruity sweet medium body with sensational fruit intensity, acidity, and depth. Finishes with a pleasing warm, peppery spice and prune accented fade. A great dessert wine like after dinner drink or clever cocktail ingredient. (It was reviewed on tastings.com -- if you've tried it, let me know how it was?)


	3. ~~ The horror/revenge mix ~~

Drusilla nuzzled at the fair skin, blew long strands of dark hair away, and murmured, "I do hope you're not coffee. I don't like coffee." Then her face blurred and her fangs ripped through flesh. Hot, rich, thick, glorious blood spilled over her tongue, her teeth, her lips, her face....

Drusilla drank the blood as if she was starving (which she was), drank hoarse, high, shocked cries of pain and panic and pleading as if they were as good as blood (which they almost were), and drank in the desperate hammering of the heart and surge of hormones into the blood like the spices and amuse-bouche they were. Every drop, every beat, every lost, terrified syllable, every glorious, grand, intoxicating bite and bit and breath....

They slid down the floor together, locked against each other by Drusilla's arms and teeth and will, until that last hammering heartbeat stuttered, shuddered, and stopped. The frail, broken body lay abandoned limp and empty under her.

Leaving Drusilla to roll off her, giddy and giggling and hugging herself in pleased surprise. "Mmm. Not coffee at all. Cognac, or champagne, or that lovely plum and almond liqueur. It's too bad they break so easily."

Drusilla stared into the dark and sighed, suddenly, briefly content. "Coffee. You're supposed to finish a good meal with coffee.... I wonder if one of those fancy coffee places could make me something that would taste like that pretty Hawai'ian coffee smelled? Such a waste if I have to kill them all to get it right -- I'm full now. "

Her pleasure was so vivid and distracting that Drusilla didn't hear the soft sparks and cracks of electricity beside her. The first thing she heard, in fact, was a heartbeat she discounted for another of her visions and an inhaled gasp that finished with a whistle of air around steel. That, she heard, and the crack of her bones separating around a wide blade.

Drusilla clawed at the machete but it was almost as long as her arms and her victim had driven it partly into the floor. The woman was deathly white and gasping for air, but she pulled another blade out from under the mattress and swung down, ignoring the new damage to her arms as she forced the wide blade down through Dru's throat.

Grace Chandel drove it between vertebrae with the absent skill of a woman who'd been a doctor for hundreds of years and then stared in shock as the monster on her floor fell apart into dust around her blades: there and then gone.

Grace fell back onto the floor and curled onto the floor around the knife in her hand, waiting for enough blood cells to breathe properly, to have some energy... and to overcome the urge to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grace Chandel is an immortal, born in 1372 in the Duchy of Lorraine, France, stoned to death as a witch in 1402. She's been a midwife, doctor, and medical researcher for most of her life and doesn't take challenges -- but she does know anatomy.
> 
> 'Plum and almond liqueur' -- Yumehibiki Brightly Plum Liqueur, Brilliant amber color. Redolent aromas of floral plum, buckwheat honey, and delicate marzipan follow through on a lively entry to a tangy fruity sweet medium body with sensational fruit intensity, acidity, and depth. Finishes with a pleasing warm, peppery spice and prune accented fade. A great dessert wine like after dinner drink or clever cocktail ingredient. (It was reviewed on tastings.com -- if you've tried it, let me know how it was?)


	4. ~~ The psych horror mix ~~

Drusilla nuzzled at the fair skin, blew long strands of dark hair away, and murmured, "I do hope you're not coffee. I don't like coffee." Then her face blurred and her fangs ripped through flesh. Hot, rich, thick, glorious blood spilled over her tongue, her teeth, her lips, her face....

Drusilla drank the blood as if she was starving (which she was), drank hoarse, high, shocked cries of pain and panic and pleading as if they were as good as blood (which they almost were), and drank in the desperate hammering of the heart and surge of hormones into the blood like the spices and amuse-bouche they were. Every drop, every beat, every lost, terrified syllable, every glorious, grand, intoxicating bite and bit and breath....

They slid down the floor together, locked against each other by Drusilla's arms and teeth and will, until that last hammering heartbeat stuttered, shuddered, and stopped. The frail, broken body lay abandoned limp and empty under her.

Leaving Drusilla to roll off her, giddy and giggling and hugging herself in pleased surprise. "Mmm. Not coffee at all. Cognac, or champagne, or that lovely plum and almond liqueur. It's too bad they break so easily."

Drusilla stared into the dark and sighed, suddenly, briefly content. "Coffee. You're supposed to finish a good meal with coffee.... I wonder if one of those fancy coffee places could make me something that would taste like that pretty Hawai'ian coffee smelled? Such a waste if I have to kill them all to get it right -- I'm full now. "

# # #

She licked her lips again, still smiling, almost giggling.

A computer program noted the movement of Subject VF-138's mouth in the camera feed, checked it against stored movements, and subsided, appeased.

In the white room, the small, seemingly frail figure lay curled on the floor, restrained in a Kevlar and fine chain straitjacket. She faced the wall, but her eyes were watching something much farther away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Plum and almond liqueur' -- Yumehibiki Brightly Plum Liqueur, Brilliant amber color. Redolent aromas of floral plum, buckwheat honey, and delicate marzipan follow through on a lively entry to a tangy fruity sweet medium body with sensational fruit intensity, acidity, and depth. Finishes with a pleasing warm, peppery spice and prune accented fade. A great dessert wine like after dinner drink or clever cocktail ingredient. (It was reviewed on tastings.com -- if you've tried it, let me know how it was?)


End file.
